Today’s guest post is written by blogger/mother Marinka of Motherhood in NYC. Marinka and I are fairly new to each other online., but she’s funny — and I adore funny women. But her name brought up some red flags. “Are you Russian?” I asked Marinka. Yes. She and her parents has come from the Soviet Union when she was very young. A-ha! A Russian-born woman! I know her type VERY WELL. She will get you drunk on vodka, have her way with you, break your heart, and then toss you into the Black Sea. So, here you go, Sophia — I mean Marinka — I’m giving you a ridiculous topic just because I’m passive-aggressive!
Who’s Afraid of Dick Woolf (With Not-Very-Sincere Apologies to Virginia and Mr. Wolf)
by Marinka of Motherhood in NYC
Ladies, ever wonder if your marriage would survive if you suddenly woke up with a penis? Why not ask your partner? It will bring you closer and make for lighthearted conversation.
I ask my husband if he would still love me if I were to sprout a penis, and he says “yes” so quickly that I become instantly suspicious. I mean, who can agree to something like that without mulling it over, maybe running a few Google searches and having a heart to heart with friends or maybe a mental health expert or a dozen. At the very least, shouldn’t he be asking me why I was asking? Or how this penis would happen to appear? Or if I’ve had my meds adjusted recently?
The more I think about it, the more obnoxious his “yes” becomes. As far as I can tell, there were only two possible reasons for it. First is that he wasn’t really listening to what I was asking, and even if he were, he just wanted to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible and this was the best way to get me to shut the hell up. Second is that in my sudden penis growth he sees an opportunity for an early retirement as he parades me around the talk show freak circus circuit and cashes in. I am uncertain which option is more offensive, but I do know that my evening plans of watching “Gossip Girl” are on hold. Indefinitely.
“What do you mean ‘yes’?” I ask him.
“What?” he says, leading me towards Theory Number One of Not Listening To Me.
“You would still love me and stay married to me if I had a penis? Isn’t that weird? Wouldn’t you be alarmed and maybe concerned and skeeved out?”
“I guess.” He shrugs. I sometimes think that shrugging by adults is a defense to most crimes committed against them.
“So, why do you say ‘yes’ if I asked you if you’d still love me?”
He looks at me as though I were asking a completely ridiculous question.
“I said ‘yes’ because I thought that your getting a penis was an unlikely event, like something that we won’t be facing in the near future—along the lines of ‘will you love me forever, no matter what?’”
“You mean when you’ve said that you’ll love me forever, no matter what, you meant it the same way you mean ‘I’ll love you if you have a huge penis’?!”
“How do you know that you’d have a huge one?”
“Oh please. I wouldn’t have a fun-sized one.”
“What do you mean ‘Ok’? You think that I’d have a tiny dick? You have some fucking nerve. You don’t really appreciate me, do you? You’re constantly emasculating me.”
“Are you PMSing?”
“Let me grab my ankles, now that you have a penis.”
“Well, if you had a mangina, it would totally be over between us.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“A mangina. A male vagina.”
“Look, if you are not PMSing, you’re insane. What is a male vagina?”
“You don’t understand anything.”
“Thank god for that.”
So yes, apparently, my marriage would survive my growing a penis. As long as we never discussed it.